His Vindication
by Nevermore.Rose
Summary: When Ron heroically dies, all of the Weasleys and the remainder of the trio are thrown into misery. But when Hermione encounters a reborn Ron,she is shown a new, twisted life of darkness. Rated M to be safe.
1. Loss Of A Loved One

Disclaimer:The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the equally wonderful J.k.Rowling, and without her astounding imagination, I would have remained bored and nto have been able to write this, I OWN NOTHING ! (except maybe that growing-grave stone thing in this chapter...)

A/N: So, basically, the goth side of me decided to take over and make me want to write a fanfiction in whihc one of the characters becomes a vampire, which is quite strange, because I normally avoid reading fanfictions of such a nature, but anyways...yes...I just really wanted to. I totally understand if you don't want to read it, because frankly, I probably wouldn't, but give it a try. I actually thought up this stroy even before I made an account here, I dunno, it just sort of came to me. And unfourtunatly, writing depressing fanfictions is practically second nature for me, and frankly, I was bored, so I just decided to write it and just see what happens. Because school's back, however, I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update...

But reviews are always a good modivator...

The cemetery was enormous, thought to have gone on for miles. Down across a black forest of wonders, which the inhabitants of a small tight-knit muggle town stood far clear from, for they knew anyone who went in, for better or for worse, never returned, and down straight Aubrey Lane for 130 kms or so, the slightly twisted chipping black iron gates stood a dreary 10 feet, locked by dozens of over-lapping muggle chains and spells, with the surrounding twisted fences that went on for acres around the lot.

From a distance, one could see a line of solemn red specks arriving around a bend of al large hill leading up to the menacing fences. Near them, was a similar speck that shinned a platinum gold, and one like a rough ink-blot of raven, with an unruly brown mess at its side.

The visitors had come to the fence. The eldest, a once cheerful tall man with hair bright as flames, which had more curiosity than a toddler on things of other, simpler worlds, had now seemed to age almost ten years. His eyes were cold and desolate, stripped o their once joyful shimmer. He walked to the crooked gates, and holding up what appeared to be a long, hardwood baton, glumly muttered a few words, and after a flash of bright white light, the gates dragged themselves open, their warped ends lugging through the dry, rocky ground. They entered slowly. The other with him was no better.

And older woman, who's once bright red hair had turned gray with worry in rapidly short time was crying in agonizing fits into her husband, the aged man's, shoulder. A big, well built man, who shared the red hair, had swollen eyes from previously shed tears.

Behind him, came two identical twins, their shoulders slumped, whispering to each other. Though both their spirits had lessened immensely, there was simply too much joy in the two for them to loose all hope. "Cheery place we picked isn't it?" whispered one named Fred, who was followed but by his brother's reply "Yeah, ball of sunshine, this one is."

A younger girl, Ginny, who was solemn with silent tears, could not keep the fire in her personality from quickly correcting them "It looked so beautiful and serene in the day, he would have," she stopped, to keep her voice from quivering "…loved it in the summer.", though, as she noted, that now was a time of spring, early May, yet no rustling of the trees, or sounds of melancholy birds chirping. Time almost feel still, there was not a sound other than the group's moans and mutters, it seemed almost like everything was waiting, for something unexplainable.

A beautiful blonde followed behind, her fingers entwined with another man of the almost infectious blazing red hair, which, was slightly longer, and neatly pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck. The two lovers, named Bill and Fleur, walked slowly, with Fleur's occasional sobs, and muttering almost incoherent sentences about "how ei was just too young…" The beautiful young couple was planned to be wed after the dark and gruesome war that had brought them to this very graveyard, though with the death of their loved one, it seemed almost a necessity to wait and grieve before jumping into such a joyous occasion.

Lastly came a solemn young man, who appeared to be in his late teens. His messy, ebony hair was tussled and untidy, and his round, almost cheap looking glasses framed his piercing and mesmerizing green eyes, which were focused down on the floor. His heart felt as though it had sunk down into a pool of black, and he cried silent, smooth tears that tricked down his lowered face, falling down off his nose, and down, plopping on to the floor, leaving pitter-patters of wet as he dragged his feet through the muddy graveyard. Most thought the great Harry Potter, who had now defeated even the great and all powerful Dark Lord Voldemort, was void of emotion, although he himself was only a young man. But these expectations were entirely false, proven by the droplets of pure pain flooding out of his eyes.

Beside him, a girl Hermione, walked just as slowly, if not slower. Of all those to have lost this cherished man, none had felt the utter loss and destruction to the soul it had caused quite like her. But she had changed matured over the years, and outside now, she seemed clam and centered to a stranger. But one who was especially close the brilliant witch could plainly see that she was in inner chaos. The girl gave little clues to her disposition. Her eyes had a glazed-over and watery look, and her chin was quivering and tight, her arms cradling each other, crossed and grabbing at the upper arm of it's opposite. Her tangled and ruthless hair was clipped back. The only tears she cried were to herself, behind closed doors, where she ranted and raved and went into hysterical fits safely and privately, so that none could call her week, or helpless.

All of the party was dressed in clothes of black, muggle outfits, in the event that they were to run across any who may be taking a midnight jog.

They walked silently, quietly, until they finally reached their destination. A large, great grave, under a twisted and turned oak tree. It's branches, hung over the grave, it's leaves provided shade over the great statue grave underneath it.

Underneath these curling branches, was a statue, of about eleven or twelve feet.

A large angel, elegant in it's glory. Carved out of stone, it stood, graceful, yet planted firmly, ready for battle. It was almost poetic, looking like a sort of depiction of the Archangel Micheal, ready for combat against Satan. He stood, tall and proud, ready to defend peace and justice against evil and malice, the true second-in-hand. His arm outstretched up to heaven, clutching a large stone sword, pointing up, to the sky. His other arm at his side, clenched in a fist. His chest was bare, looking like his robes had torn away, and showing off the angel's toned physique. Opened and outstretched, his beautiful wings were like that of a romantic bald eagle, furious, but lovely in their trodden state. With a foot forward, and the other back to the side to support him, he stood tall and prud, ready to defend all good and righteousness.

However, to anyone who knew the man whom this monument was built to commemorate, as the group who had arrived at it's foot did, they would notice the eloquent face. For on the body of this strong guardian, was carved a bright face of youth, his hair just below his ear, with bright, gleaming courageous eyes, and a few carved specks, looking like diminutive freckles from below where the soeaktater would strand to pay their respects. With it's strong chin, and charming features, it was a stone likeness to the man who lay below it's magnificence.

The older redhead, Molly, broke out into a fresh batch of sobs on her husbands shoulder, seing the glorious image that had appeared there naturally.

In the wizarding world, a tomb stone grew up from under the ground after the body had been buried at the sight. Nature's magic would wind up and produce a tomb that suited the magical beings life, and death, in a mere few days. The Greatness, the goodness, or the Wickedness of the person lived forever after their death, in these unbreakable stones. Mediocre lives resulted in smaller, humbler stones, or figureines, and great large statues and shapes resulted in those of greatness.

This man, had lost his life, to protect those around them. He had been pure of heart and simple of mind. And for it, he was commemorated, with this memorial of his unconditional bravery and faith.

And carved,onto the foot of the statue was carved

"In Loving Memory of

**Ronald Bilius Weasley**

_"I'm not afraid to die, _

_Not if it means redemption for others, _

_Then my death will be vindicated" _

These were his last words, to the crowd of people, ready to fight the war to end all magical wars. The crowd had cheered, and he, along side his friends, lead on the battle to his doom.

Or was it?

Like a newborn phoenix, arising from the ashes of its old life, this man was to be reborn.

He was to be given his vindication.

A/N: Please review if possible and tell me how I did. Should I stick to the vampire plot? Should I abandon it totally, what do you think?


	2. What Has Become Of Us

After starring upon its magnificence, each said their own private goodbyes, in complete silence.

When they finished, they left as solemnly as they came, this time, without a word from anyone. After all, for them it had only been a few mere weeks since his death.

The years dragged on, slowly, like wheels stuck in the mud.

Mr.Weasley posed few, week attempts at cheering things up, though none really helped. He tried smiling occasionally, but he remained distraught, somewhat detached from this world.

Mrs.Weasley went into random crying fits occasionally, though she and her husband did occasionally share happier periods, which ended quickly. Any reminder of her lost son sent her into hysterical weeps and sobs.

Charley went back to work, and made sure that he was consumed in it. He was always constantly working, to keep his mind off the pain his family was in. He was always tracing or working with dragons, or writing about his findings, so that he was to busy to remember.

Bill and Fleur still couldn't unite their feelings on whether or not to wed, knowing that it would still be a solemn ceremony without his youngest brother there. Fleur, however, wanted to tie down, thinking that the ceremony might be able to bring joy to the miserable family. Because of all these differences, they started to fall into petty fights, pulling them away from each other, a little at a time.

Percy never even sent a card, he stayed even farther away from the family then he did before, completely avoiding them at all costs.

Fred and George still tried to keep hopes high, and unlike their father, were often successful at cracking a smile in between the sobs. For some reason though, none of their joke creations seemed to ever work, or click. Nothing was quite as good as it was, nothing had the same sparkle, as it did when Ron was around to laugh along with them. To make extra money, they invested in the wizarding stock market, investing in new stores or products, all but to no avail. Luck, or good luck was no longer with them.

Ginny went through crazy mood swings, going from content to overjoy and to completely depressed, it was almost impossible to predict when they would alter.

Harry was still solemn and lonely, as he felt responsible for his friend's death. He avoided much human interaction, and normally locked himself in the nearest room. When asked, normally by Hermione, about how he felt about the matter, he would ignore her, or walk away.

Hermione was trapped, taking care of the distraught family. She had to make sure that everything was alright with each of them, watch them, do simple things that wouldn't have taken effort before Ron's end, that just seemed to difficult for them. So, to keep their faith up, she tried her best to act normally, to act like nothing was lost. She permanently moved into the Burrow, which had been kindly restored after the battle, into what was once Percy's room. The Weasley's needed something like a live-in nanny. However, after the cleaning, the cheering, and all the work of the day, she would shut her door, lock it with a swish of her wand, and fall to sleep, every night, in tears. She had grown thinner, and had lost some of her color in her face. She looked almost ill, because for Hermione, who had always been an outspoken person, had to keep her emotions inside, for the sake of the people who had grown to be her family over the years, was like a disease, eating her from the inside out.

It had been five, long, slow years, since the battle, and therefore, five years of sadness and heartbreak, for all those who had lost someone they cared for deeply in it.

Hermione woke to a stream of sunlight falling from her bedroom window, down to her patchwork bedcovers, illuminating her sleep-warn face and messy, tangled hair. She lay down; face side-ways to the pillow, until she forced herself to get up.

Rubbing her eyes, she dragged her feet into the bathroom, between Percy and Charlie's older rooms, which had now become hers, since they both no longer lived in the burrow.

She took her routine shower, remembering the time when Harry and Ron had saved her from the Troll, and how proud she had been of Ron that he finally mastered that simple spell. The rest of the shower was full of her sobs and tears. She lay on the wall of the shower, the water that rained from thin air above her, like all wizard showers, pouring down her face and body. Yet for all the water that fell on her warns face, her tears were still more distinct than all others.

She got out of the shower, and rapping her body with a pink, fluffy towel, walked over to the foggy mirror, swiftly wiping away a streak of the cloudy substance away with her hand.

Then she stopped.

She saw herself for what she had become. A thin, paling, over-worked 22 years old, who had hardly any time for fun. Her life ambitions were gone. A job like she had once hoped to pursue would keep her too long away from the needy Weasleys. Instead, she was forced to work long hours in a small restaurant, painfully located in a small, well-hidden wizarding community in a superstitious little muggle town, Auberyville, right near the cemetery where Ron was buried.

This was sickening to her, this realization of what she had become. Turning the sink tap on, she angrily splashed at this image….at this pathetic self, and desolately watched as the drops ran down the glass, unable to wash away her identity.

Hermione ran downstairs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun.

She first caught a glimpse of Mrs.Weasley, who looked worn and aged, her eyes red and puffy, showing that she had been crying earlier, as she lazily tried to scramble eggs, almost lifelessly.

"Oh, hello Hermione dear. Would you mind slicing those loaves of bread?" Mrs.Weasley asked earnestly.

"No problem" Hermione said, her fake cheerful tone rupturing her insides.

Mrs.Wealey had bad luck with knives since the war as well. Often, she would break into crying fits while she cooked, resulting in plenty of uneven pieces of food, or worse, cuts on herself. Thankfully, nothing serious had yet occurred, and the Weasleys defiantly wanted to prevent any accidents.

After a few minutes of slicing baguettes, Ginny came down the stairs. She had black bags under her eyes. She cracked a diminutive smile. "Good morning everyone."

"Morning Ginny." Hermione said sluggishly

"Good morning dear." Mrs.Weasley said

Ginny took a seat at the table. One by one, the table started to fill. Hermione had just taken a seat, when Harry finally came down from his own small room, with a blank face, as usual, and sat beside her.

Hermione passed around the bread basket, and everyone took a few eggs and strips of bacon.

This breakfast, like most others the Weasley had, was quiet, and too quiet for Hermione's tastes. She decided to start small conversation.

"How was your sleep Harry?"

"Fine"

"Really? Did you have any interesting dreams?"

"What, you mean like I did when Voldemort was still around, before Ron croaked?"

Harry had now become almost cruel when someone disturbed his silent misery, and as such, the entire table erupted.

Mrs.Wealey was the first, exploding into crazy fresh sobs, stinging her eyes.

Fred and George ran to their mother, trying to calm her down, while Mr. Easley gave Harry an intense stare. Harry scowled back. He had become cold to those closest to him, for fear that if anyone came to close, that they would be ripped away as well.

Ginny broke out into an angry fit "How could you bring that up now, you insensitive bastard! Are you trying to destroy everyone around you, just because you can't take human fucking interaction!" she said, slamming down her fork and leaving.

"Harry…" Hermione started, but was quickly cut off

"I don't need any of this..."He said, running upstairs.

Hermione, whose arm had been outstretched to comfort Harry, moved it to cover her face. Everything was going wrong.

After breakfast finally settled down, Hermione got the last things she needed. And grabbing some fresh flew powder, took a deep breath and called out, as clearly as possible "THE CROOKED BROOMSTICK!" She instantly appeared in a small, homey kitchen, with pale, cream walls and dark, worn-wooden shelves and kitchen accessories. "Hermione, love!" said a small, cubby woman, with a cheerful, full face. Her rosy cheeks and constant smile could warm any heart, and had the kind, gentle feeling, of a charming Italian grandmother, though her English accent was heavy. Though always sweet and caring to Hermione, she was known for being rude and frank to her customers. Her hair, mostly brown, but with many slack, grey strands, was pulled into a loose bun at the start of her neck. Magiera, or "Auntie Margie", the name she affectionately gave use to Hermione or "Marge" to her customers, was both Hermione's employer, and salvation. She was owner, cook, and overseer of _The Crooked Broomstick_, a very cheap, small little pub, that served more of the lower class wizards and witches, who were most of the wizarding community that resided in the small, close-knit muggle-inhabited town of Auberyville, located in the English countryside, in almost the middle of nowhere.

She waddled over to Hermione, her apron slightly stained, a large, wooden soup spoon in her hand, her arms open and ready for a great hug, when Hermione accepted gratefully.

"What took you so long dearest, you've got yourself a 'eap of work to do over 'ere."

"I know Auntie Margie, I'm sorry, but there was some trouble with the Wealeys again…"

"Oh, I know love, but you've gotta give it time."

"It's been years, and nothing's changed"

"I know, love…"

Margie could always understand Hermione, which was part of the reason she loved work.

Though nothing like any of the careers she had aspired to partake in, the Crooked Broomstick was Hermione's saviour. Though she did not particularly warm up to any of the customers well, Auntie Margie was someone she could talk to, vent to, seriously, without borders or limitations, she could just unleash all of the feelings she had cooped up.

She also loved work, because it was a distraction, something that could pull her mind away from the pain and loss, instead of engulfing her in it.

And sadly, she loved work best because it was away from the Burrow. As much as she had loved the Weasleys, they were like chains. She felt the need to constantly be under control, or always helping with someone or something, constantly surrounded by sadness and bitterness, never having a moment of true peace, so she treasured work, as the single excuse that allowed her to leave without them doubting her loyalty to them, because, in all truth, she really did need the money to help support them.

Grabbing some ho bowls of soup, one in each hand; she pushed thought the intricately carved door, into the smoke-full, dingy restaurant front.

Passing each, she quickly went over and into the bar, waiting for anyone who wished for a drink, and waiting to here a simple sound that arrived in from the kitchen when a dish was finished for a customer.

She gave an old, wrinkly man another fire whiskey when he approached her, pouring the glass full enough so that he would not have to make any trips back, a she had a weird look in his eyes. Leaning over and resting on the palms of her hand, her elbows to the table, she looked to her side, her eye catching, in the distance, Ron's cemetery.

As painful as it was to stare at, she felt almost entranced to look into it. Something their fixated her on the spot, and kept her looking, blinklessly, at it's almost eerie peace.

Suddenly, the kitchen bell rang loud and clear, signaling another order done, and ready to be dropped of at it appropriate table. Shaking her head slightly, as to almost shake off the strange Trans that had consumed her, if just for but an instant, Hermione grabbed the two orders and handed them to their appropriate tables.

Hermione spent the rest of the day cleaning and moping the shop front, occasionally picking up orders and dropping them off at their tables, until, finally, around 10:00, Auntie Marge booted out the last of the customers, and Hermione was able to stop work. She grabbed her coat, a feminine trench, of the hanger in the kitchens, and wrapped a warm scarf around her neck, figuring she could walk some of the way in this fall weather. Letting down her hair, curls tumbling down to past her shoulder blades, she bid Auntie Marge a final good bye, and walked outside, starting down the side of the dirt road.

The sky was the darkest of blues, almost black, and the stars were beginning to awaken in the sky, here and there, as the people on earth slowly went to sleep.While looking up, she smiled slightly to herself, for the first time in months.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her feet froze, her breathe became slow and ragged, the visible puffs of air retreating from her mouth slowly into the cool autumn air. Her eyes, like her feet, were glued, but ahead, past the tallest hill in the town, into the great cemetery. Her eyes were transfixed, as she stood, staring.Her eyes were locked, transfixed in it

Like an ominous force calling to her, the cemetery almost glowed with an eerie light amongst the orange and red leaves of the forest.

Without thinking, she started her way up the twisted dirt path towards it, opening its black gates with a swish of her wand. She felt almost frightening, her eyes darting from side to side, with her hand's moving up and down the opposite arm's upper arm, as her breath went ragged.

Winds whistle, picking up the otherwise lifeless leaves and swirling them about in a tossing and turning dance, while the rest of the almost forest-like cemetery stood still in an unnatural silence. Soon after, as she progressed deeper and deeper, the only noise she heard was of the crunching of her own feet in the dry autumn leaves.

She halted. She stood on a tall hill, its grasses covered, almost stained with auburn, orange and deep mustard yellow from the surrounding trees, and even in the dark of the night, she could spot the great angel monument that had seemed to call her here.

Or had it?

Because, even more strangely, she could distinctly see the back of a young man's profile.

His head was tilted up looking up at the statue of her friend, but doing nothing more, simply standing and looking at the shape of the winged hero set before him in stone.

He wore a plain, black zip-up sweater, and had the hood on, which made perfect sense, her practical mind thought, for the chilly weather. This was paired with a simple pair of regular blue jeans, ripped around the feet and worn in, with a pair of wasted dark blue converse chucks. He looked normal enough.

But for some reason, Hermione sensed something off. Dearly hating how much this sounded like a divination lesson, it was almost as if his, dare she think it, _aura_, seemed peculiar.

She hid herself quickly behind the nearest tree, thinking of how awkward it might look if this boy spotted her. Unfortunatly, as she stepped to the side to conceal herself behind a rather large oak, she stepped on a falling twig, breaking it in half and sending an echoing _Crack! _Throughout the dead forest.

A second later, she looked down, and the boy was gone.

**A/N:**

Firstly, I am soooooooooooooooooo terribly sorry that it took me so long to update. But with school back, I have time for almost nothing anymore. Any who, yes, not much plot action here, but I had to hit the fast forward button and explain what's happened to everyone so far. Anyways, thanks for all the great reviews, I really appreciate them; they make me want to write more. However, don't expect an update anytime soon. I always constantly have one project or another going on, and I write for pleasure, not because it's an obligation. However, lost of reviews is an excellent from of persuasion?

**TA-TA FOR NOW!!!**


	3. Watching Over

A/N: So…..IT HAS BEEN WRITTEN! Once, again, very sorry that it's taking so long, but, you know, life and such. So terribly unavoidable. Anyways….ENJOY!

Hermione's confusion as to the young man's whereabouts did not subside, but feeling drained from the walk, she apparated home, eyebrows twisted in confusion.

With a loud crack Hermione appeared in the living room.

"OH DEAR!ARTHUR, ARTHUR!!! SHE'S HOME" Hermione could here Mrs.Weasley's voice, crackling as it always did after a fresh batch of tears, as she screamed for her husband.

"HERMIONE DEAR!!WE WERE WORRIED SICK!! A WHOLE HOUR LATE!!

We were so used to you coming home everyday promptly at the lastest ten, and look, ELEVEN O'CLOCK!!!"

"I'm sorry Mrs.Weasley, but I was cleaning out the kitchen and I lost track of time." Hermione blurted out an excuse, thinking it best not to mention her wandering around a deserted graveyard and running into a disappearing stranger, for fear that Mrs.Weasley may very well have heart attack.

After convincing Mrs.Weasley that she was alright, she dragged her feet up the stairs to her room, shutting the door carefully, exhausted. The Weasleys were so vulnerable, and she knew that their deepest fear was to loose someone else, especially her, who had being fruitlessly trying to sew back together what was left of the family.

But as she shut and locked her door and started to change into her oversized t-shirt she often slept in, she felt strange. An eerie feeling that she had been sensing since almost four years ago.

She felt like she was being watched.

She looked around, as she often did when these feelings ensued, checking and asserting herself of her surroundings. One of the healers who had dealt with her at St.Mungo's after the battle had told her these reoccurring feelings were only from her depressed, chaotic state, and that they were all psychological. Yet she couldn't help to think other wise.

Suddenly, something caught her eye.

Too her horror, she saw the silhouette of a head in her window, though black by the light. She froze, unable to move, unable to scream, almost hypnotized, just as she had been the earlier when staring into that dreaded cemetery. Then, as she blinked, it was gone. She rushed to her window, unlatching its sides and throwing it up, sticking her head out and looking from side to side.

But no one was there, or anywhere.

And she was reminded that her room was on the second floor of the house, far to high for anyone too poke in their heads and peer in. Yet she could feel eyes on her as she shut off the lights and went to sleep, though finally she drifted into a weary sleep, tired and lost.

He moved the drapery, swiftly and softy away with a jerk of his hand, moving at unnatural speeds throughout the house.

He knew she had seen him there, he knew the way she had looked at him. Afraid. And why wouldn't she be?

When he had realized that she spotted him, he rushed behind curtain in the next hallway over, zooming through an opened window. For the last few years he had been doing this, sneaking through a home so familiar, yet now worlds apart, if only to see what had become of it all.

He did not go into the master bedroom, remembering how lightly Mrs.Weasley slept.

Instead, he went into the twins room, looking around, and spotting one, Fred, asleep over many crinkled papers, and the other, George, sprawled along the floor, snoring, a quill fallen out of his right hand and forms to buy shares to a used broom shop on the outskirts of Hogsmade scattered about the floor.

He wedged one of the papers from under Fred. Plans for new joke items. He read some of the messy notes surrounding some of the crude drawings, concluding what afew were.

A game of exploding snap that released itching powder. Wands that, no matter what spell cast, would cause eggs to crack over the head of it's user, and a pair of shoes that caused the wearer to walk backwards.

But from the surrounding scribbles, he could see the designs crossed out countless times, and he concluded that, although they tried, none of these seemed to work properly.

Lifting Fred up gently, he placed the paper back the way he found it, laying the tired twin on top of it.

He then moved over to George.

Reading over the paper, he was disgusted. He knew of their addiction to stocks. Crumpling the paper into a ball, he tossed in into the trash bin. And with that, he left.

Next, he went to visit Ginny.

He looked apon the young red head, grinning to himself slightly, as memories of bat-boogy hexes filled his head. He looked down on her.

She looked so peaceful now, but he knew of how moody she was during the day.

He could see grey circles under her youthful eyes, feeling a pang of guilt.

He searched through her drawers in her night table.

To his interest, he found an unsent letter, written hastily, and read it, knowing that the girl would not stir.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know how terrible everything has been. I know what Ron's death has done to you, done to us all, although I know it must have been more difficult for you, as you were there when it happened…when…oh, I can't even bring myself to write it, but we all feel the same pain. I can't tell you of what it's like hearing the latest Quidittch victory and not thinking of how happy Ron would be to hear the Cannon's won, or how strange our quiet meals are, and if not quiet, then torturous. _

_But Harry, I must confess, that still through all of this, one of the most painful things is watching you from across the dinner table on one of your monthly visits, or seeing you off on one of your auror missions, and seeing your face blank and unattached._

_Ron's gone Harry, but everyone's just stuck._

_Stuck in this rut._

_We have to move on, and no one will until you do._

_Harry, you've become emotionless. You rarely eat, and can barely sleep. And there's something I must say, if it's the last thing I do._

_I love you._

_Oh God Harry, I love you so completely. You're the last piece of sanity I have left, and your not even there. Even the ghosts at Hogwarts are more tangible than you. It's like you lost your soul to a dementor._

_You don't cry, or laugh, _

_Hell, you don't even smile._

_Harry, your almost dead to me. Have you forgotten your promise? We only ever parted in the first place because you thought I wouldn't be safe. That Voldemort would use me as a tool against you._

_But it's over Harry. He's gone. And you never kept your word. You lied to me. _

_But I'm waiting here_

_I'll always be waiting here_

_But I doubt that you'll ever come find me._

_With my dearest love, _

_Ginvera Weasley._

So she still loved him, but hadn't found the courage to mail the letter. He looked it over, spotting the stains of tears on the page, cried while the letter was written

He heart got heavy. But one such as him should be void of emotion, as he tried to empty his heart.

And so, he moved on.

Into her room.

When entering, her sweet fragrance filling his nostrils, more so than any mortal could

ever possibly sense. Rose wafted around her, cradling her perfection with sweet

scent.

But she had been depleted.

As he drew nearer to the bed, he could see the lines etched under her eyes, showing how

many late nights she had stayed up. She was paler than ever before, her once creamy

peach skin now rougher.

Of course, even her face's dramatic loss of color could not compare to his own.

She mesmerized him, just as she had always done. He looked about her room. It

was clean, though not with the same gleam it had once had, showing how tired she gotten.

For him, everything around here was an indication of how well she was. And she did not seem well at all.

But he looked back at her now.

And he silently approached her bedside, bringing himself on his knees so that he could stare, eye level, at her beauty.

Her hair, once tied back firm and tightly, was now messily falling from the straning band that almost seemed to struggle to hold back the mass which was her hair.

And he had never seen anything more beautiful.

And overcome with emotion, he made a very stupid mistake.

One that would cross their two worlds and change their lives forever.

Ronald Weasley leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to Hermione's.

A/N:

CLIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFY! Isn't it just tantalizing? I'm practically TORTURING YOU! Ok…fine….not really. Please forgive me, but I feel as though I've just consumed a barrel of PURE SUGAR!! Now, I'm going to have to edit this myself, because, once again, my editor is possibly the slowest person on the market…and that's coming from me….who rarely updates.

Honestly, I thought this chapter would just be more filler, but I guess something important happened. I'm a terrible author, I know, I don't even have an outline or anything. I'm just trying to go with the flow heee and see what comes up. Either way, I'm rather proud of this chapter, even though it's short. I loved how the letter from Ginny sounds, I was so proud of it….

Anyways…things have been rather busy. Plus, I've started writing another fanficiton (what…I get bored easily…) that takes place in the Marauder era, and I've had to think up a bunch of OCs. So yes.

Not to mention the HIDEOUS amount of homework I'm getting.

Either way, that's all for now..


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